We managed to get out on Sunday afternoon, allowing us to beat much of the massive traffic from the "Exodus." We had to wait only an hour a the gate until we were "pulsed" onto the highway. Heading back on Route 447, we stopped twice---once for delicious "Indian tacos" (served by the locals from the Pyramid Lake Reservation), and another time to get the truck washed at one of the impromptu car washes. It felt nice to contribute to the local economy.
Well, relaxation was the plan at least.
Much of the time during the next morning and afternoon was spent trying to get our dirty and dusty possessions from the rental truck back into Red's Ford Focus. It felt like the work just never ended.
As the rental deadline approached, it was clear that there would be no time left to clean out the interior of the truck. We would have to bring it back dusty and pay whatever fee they would charge us. When the guy at the rental place came out to inspect it, and after opening the back door, he stated solemnly "that's going to be a hundred dollar cleaning fee."
My relief and resignation upon hearing that caught him off guard. He said almost everyone else argues it over the fee. I told him with a wave of my hand that I was happy to pay for someone else to do it at this point. Because of this, we instantly made friends. He encouraged me to reserve for next year. Last I checked, he hadn't even charged me the fee (although if he does, I really can't complain).
The next day, Labor Day, we dropped by to see my 89-year-old great-uncle, the former B-17 gunner from World War II and Reno resident since 1956. As we drop up, he was sitting on the front porch, looking so much like my late grandmother, his sister. We sat out there in the late afternoon glow of the holiday. He made sure to sit next to Red. It was great fun.
"You still driving that old BMW?" I told him I was, although it had been in storage since April.
He made a noise of disgust. "You gotta get rid of that thing and get a new car," he told me.
He still has a keen mind and memory. He remembered how last year when I visited him I had cooked up the idea to build an art car with my sculptor friend Howard, along with cooperation from my camp members. I told him it hadn't happened.
"I knew you weren't going to do it," he said, with a smile.
"Well, some plans are multi-year," I said, somewhat defending myself. "It was worth it to get things started right away. The best time to plan for the next Burning Man is right after the last one finishes, because your mind is so full of ideas."
"That was Plan A," I said. "When all was said and done, I was up to Plan Q, I think. But I never would have gotten there without starting on that first one."
My great-uncle was in good health, although he regretted that his hip pain no longer allowed him to hike as he once did. He mentioned how his own father (my great-grandfather) had lived to 94, and that he himself was hoping not to live that long. Humorously he had kept the beers I had left there a year ago when I visited him. He insisted that we take them, as he had no need of them.
The next day we made the long drive back to Portland through Klamath Falls, retracing our route over the Cascades and down the Willamette to Eugene. We got into town in the late evening and collapsed from exhaustion.
I told Red that in contrast to last year, when I had spent a week in the hotel in Reno cooking up the extravagant plan for the next Burning Man, that next year I basically wanted to do "exactly the same thing as this year," even including renting the same kind of truck from the same place.
"If it changes from that, so be it, but that's the starting point I'm going with."
As for the theme next, given the uncanny prescience of the Casbah idea from last year, we both agreed after our stay at the Atlantis that something along those lines would make an excellent idea for 2015.
Or perhaps something involving pink bunnies, of course.
No comments:
Post a Comment